I followed them into the hotel, my Philips hiding in my sleeve, because I had once promised myself that everyone pays. I told them that I would get paid or I would turn their white suits into splashes of red, I would hunt them in bars and wait for them all night if I had to. I am capable of swiftly pulling the bedsheets out from under their sleeping heads without waking them up, I could make their prostitutes appear in their girlfriends’ closets, I could substitute their cocaine lines with fishing ropes that sailed up their nostrils and down their brains, or I could simply juggle bowling pins while standing at their Sunday barbecues in the middle of their lawns. . But they all shouted, Liar, liar, and walked towards the elevator, except a short guy who stayed behind.
He came to me smiling, pulled out a ten-dollar bill, and handed it to me. He laughed and said: Brazil, good one. Keep the change, buddy. He clapped me on the shoulder and left.
I went back to my car and tucked my screwdriver away beside me.
That same night, I picked up a man who claimed that he had just run away from the mental hospital. He opened the front door and sat next to me, panting. He had run out through the hospital doors as a stretcher — or was it a wheelchair, he muttered — stood between him and the big nurse who wanted to chain him to his bed, and he laughed for a while and showed me the traces of straps around his wrists. I looked carefully but I didn’t see any marks. He claimed to be able to escape every straitjacket, or any underwater tank for that matter, because he possessed the knowledge.
What knowledge? I asked him.
All men are trapped, he said, until they hear the call.
Then I asked him where he wanted to go, but he didn’t answer. So I pulled over and said, Listen, pal, if you don’t tell me where we are going, you might as well get out, because I am not going any farther. You have to give me some of that knowledge and tell me the way.
He panted and said, Stasis is death.
Fine, but until death arrives we shall be moving. Now where will it be?
To Cyprian’s Supper, he said.
Well, you’re in luck, I know that joint. You are very lucky indeed, because if I didn’t have this knowledge you would be back on the street right now, running from the big nurse.
When I asked him if he had any money, he said that his brother was Cyprian, and that he would pay me.
I drove him to the restaurant.
Listen, I said, as I followed him inside. No offence, but don’t you think it’s a bit of a pretentious name for such a rundown place?
But the man kept on walking as if he hadn’t heard me.
The place was a dive; it was so empty there wasn’t even any smoke or music to describe. The madman disappeared, to the bathroom, I guessed, though I couldn’t see any stairways or doors other than the one we had come in. So I waited at the bar for a while and then finally asked the bartender if he’d seen a man with long hair go by.
The bartender, for once, and contrary to popular images, was not holding a white cloth between his fingers and polishing a glass and lifting it towards the light. He looked at me and then directed his head towards the glass that he was now in fact holding and twisting a piece of cloth inside, and said, If Lucian promised you drinks or money, you are not getting them from me.
Who is paying me, then? I asked.
Back table, the bartender said.
I looked around and wondered which table he was talking about.
That way, he pointed, with his cloth and his twitching eye.
When I walked to the back, I realized that the room was bigger than I’d thought. I saw a pool table first, then smoke, and another table farther back with two men at it. One of the men was well-built and had tattoos all over his arms. The other appeared older and wore a hat.
They both looked my way and looked surprised.
I am looking for Lucian, I said. He owes me the taxi fare.
Come and join us, the older man said. I’ll cover the fare, but first let me get you a drink. What would you like?
A juice, I said.
Juice! He laughed. He is in a bar and the man orders juice. But he waved away the other guy, who went to fetch my drink.
And how is the taxi business?
It gets better once the Carnival starts, I said.
Everyone in this town waits for the Carnival to make their money, but I say that a man should make his own future. Anyway, he continued, I am Cyprian, Lucian’s brother, and I am glad Lucian brought you here, because I was thinking. . you see, I have a nephew, a kind of. . how should I say this without insulting my sister. . he is a bit lost. Not up here, he tapped his head, not like Lucian. My nephew is a good kid, but he can’t take orders.
You mean he can’t deal with authority, I said.
Yeah, you said it. He can’t deal with it. He always ends up making a scene. Once he even beat the shit out of his boss. . Last year he worked at the Ferris wheel, but then he fought with an old lady who refused to get off after the last round of the day. She told him she could talk to God better up there. My nephew tried to pull her out, but she screamed. So what did he do but start up the wheel and leave her stranded at the top for the whole night. Lucky for my nephew, it didn’t rain and the lady eventually fell asleep praying. But still they fired him. I tried to give him a job at the restaurant but he spent most of his time outside, smoking. He likes the fresh air, what can I say? So I thought he might make a good taxi driver.
Your nephew has to pass the taxi exam first, I said.
I will make him study, Cyprian said.
He has to memorize every road and street name. Or he can simply buy the tests from the Chinese restaurant at the corner and memorize the answers.
Could you write down the name of the restaurant? he asked.
I can’t remember the exact name. I believe it has something to do with a lotus, or was it Confucius. I passed my test fair and square. I looked behind me, hoping to see Lucian again.
Lucian will be back. Finish your juice. . You know, my brother was a genius as a kid. Sometimes he thinks he’s a fortune teller, and sometimes a contortionist. I say it is this town that drives everyone crazy. You’re from here?
No. I mean, I’ve been here long enough.
So you’ve lived through a few Carnivals.
Yes, many.
It may be good for business but it’s bad for my brother’s head. When they start setting up for the Carnival, he goes back to his fantasies. The rest of the year he barely speaks. What story did he tell you this time? Was it about his escape from the hospital or the story of fighting the beast? That’s his favourite.
The hospital story, I said. I have to go.
Well, thank you for your help, and here is the fare.
Thank you for the juice, I said.
Just then Lucian showed up, elated and restless. He moved back and forth around the pool table. Cyprian took off his jacket and handed it to his brother.
Here, Lucian, show the taxi driver your escape trick.
Lucian took his brother’s jacket and wrapped himself inside it. He crossed his arms and moved his upper body from right to left, back and forth, back and forth, exactly as if he were trying to liberate himself from a straitjacket.
It saddened me and I left.
ACT TWO. AISHA
AFTER THE BEARDED lady’s death, I left her flat and walked, aimless and alone in this new land. It seemed that nothing chained me to the cages of this world anymore. Even wanderers cease to march one day. I walked towards the carnival tents and passed between their arcades and games. I picked up a gun and I shot the floating wooden ducks, and then I filled the clown’s mouth with water from my pistol until the balloons filled and burst with sounds of loss and laughter. I walked with a book in my pocket and a hat on my head, and I won every game and marched with a few stuffed animals who hung from my shoulders and consoled me. I picked up another gun, but before I aimed at the bull’s eye, the man inside the booth asked me if I was looking for a job.